To My Unknown Lover
by OverlyObsessiveWriter
Summary: You're scared to death of the outside world you've never experienced. You try to keep a strong façade, but she can read you like a book. She can tell that you're terrified and insecure, and she stays with you to make sure you get through the day. But at the same time, she's just like you; barely holding herself together. The difference is, she's a lot better at pretending.


**A/N: Okay, so this is... I don't know exactly. This is something for my OTP, because KatAshe is what keeps me alive and writing away.**

 **Please feel free to review and share your thoughts. And feel totally free to give out any suggestions/requests. I don't mind, and I like seeing other ideas. :)**

 **I hope this story is not so terrible and that you enjoy reading it.**

 **Oh, and quick warning: unfortunately, there is no KatAshe in this first chapter. But there will be eventually. Sorry.**

* * *

There's nothing but darkness and cold and quiet.

There wasn't anything wrong with it. She preferred shadows over light, coolness over heat, silence over the noises of life.

It's extremely lonely, but she's used to it. The unforgiving things had faded into a sort of comfort, albeit it was with reluctance that she used that word. It was more an empty haven, devoid of anything.

But there were worse things to go through, she supposed.

Everything seems to get heavy, and she realizes that she's slipping away. Her consciousness is.

She's drifting in a sea of nothingness, occasionally brushing the surface. And there was something within her that yearned to reach out of the water and hold on to _something_ – what that something was, she didn't know. It was the opposite of what she was in right now, and what she preferred, but it felt….

It felt just as inviting, if not more.

There was color, and warmth, and the noises of life. And friendship. And something more.

She wasn't alone up there. And she felt an urge to fight, and fight until she had reached it, until she reached everything that was the opposite of the world she had grown drearily used to. Until she could pull herself out in the nothingness she was currently drowning in without dying, and walk towards something better, something that...

Well, something that made everything... was it life?... that made life worth it. Something that made life worth all the harshness and pain and sorrow that was thrown her way. Something that granted her... happiness.

But all of it are small fragments that are overwhelmed and quickly swallowed up by the emptiness. She is too weak to grasp any, and she only catches glimpses and flashes before they fade away.

She can't even remember most of them. How can she hope to fight if she can't even gain a shred of memory?

She strained to try and catch and hold on to anything, but it just becomes heavier until she gives up. All the scraps of something better that she managed to pick up are whisked away without a struggle, and they drift into the void until they are no more.

Oh well.

Perhaps she wasn't meant to fight. At least, she wasn't meant to win. She could fight and claw and screech all she wanted to, but that wasn't going to get her anywhere. She'd always lose.

Yes, maybe that was it. She just can't win at anything. Certainly not this battle against her dark, cold, quiet sanctuary devoid of any reassurance.

The thought strikes a pang of quiet resignation, full of the feeling of hopelessness and despair and aching regret that she learned to accept a long time ago without a complaint. Because she believed that was the truth, and she was ashamed of herself. That she had no strength to fight or lead or find confidence, and only enough to dream and wander and worry. Because that was all she did, and she certainly couldn't stand up for anything, much less succeed.

But that strike of emotion makes her think about what she accepted a long time ago, and everything else that happened. Something had happened that she couldn't remember, and there had to be more.

Perhaps she lacks the strength, but there was truly more to her outside of her empty bubble, more to her than just a weakling. She entertains the idea of finally being about to escape her prison of nothingness and explore the person she is and the life she's lived so far, to explore the world that promised happiness and friendship and something more.

Unless she's dead. Then she would have to think again and reflect for a long time. And that would be terribly depressing.

Some part of her feels like laughing a little at the rather morbid train of thought. She wonders why for a moment, and then shrugs it off.

It's just her.

Everything slowly falls away. She wonders again about what she's missing out on until she's too tired to think. She felt like sighing, but of course, she was too weak to do anything.

 _Tomorrow is another day._

The phrase whispers to her without a source, and it holds a sliver of reassurance. Logically speaking, it most likely wouldn't be tomorrow she would wake up to. It would probably be more time than that. Maybe less than a day. She didn't know. But the words did hold some truth. They seem to have a comforting effect on her. Might be for good reason.

 _Alright then. Tomorrow._ Her last thoughts are small and timid.

 _Maybe then I can get somewhere._


End file.
